


Drapery

by wynnebat



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, EWE, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Neighbors, Post-Canon, Shopping, Writer Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 14:59:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19889731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: Years after the war, Harry is a writer living in New York City under a pseudonym. His main goal: successful small talk with his next-door neighbor.





	Drapery

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by anonymous. 
> 
> Alternate timelines AU: all good Fantastic Beasts characters are alive and hot.

Harry Potter had overcome many problems in his life. He’d slayed a basilisk, vanquished a Dark Lord, passed auror training with flying colors, survived Molly’s tears after breaking off his and Ginny’s engagement. He was highly capable of fixing anything that needed to be fixed. Frankly, his _Reparo_ was top notch. Hermione said so. Even under the pseudonym he’d assumed in an effort to avoid his writing career being mixed up with his fame, Harry was quite good at making friends. And yet, in the three months that he had been living in the Salem Building, an all-magical modern high-rise a block away from the MACUSA building, he continued to be unable to overcome one major problem: his next-door neighbor’s dislike of him.

It was inexplicable. Harry was an easy-going, unobtrusive type of neighbor. He refrained from playing loud music and wasn’t the type to host parties. His occasional guests included his editor, his assistant, and the occasional friend from Britain. Really, Harry was the ideal neighbor, not that Mr. Graves seemed to understand this.

As they did on occasion when Mr. Graves wasn’t working late—or whatever he did—they arrived at their doors at approximately the same time that day. Harry had taken the elevator up, not wanting to bother with apparition after the long walk he’d taken through MACUSA’s own version of Central Park, while Mr. Graves apparated a few steps away from his door, takeout in hand. Harry’s attention turned to him easily. Mr. Graves had a commanding sort of presence, and Harry had spent many a daydream wondering about the man’s life.

“Good evening,” Harry offered, walking over to his own door. He knew exactly how this would go: Mr. Graves would return the statement, sounding strained, and quickly vanish into his apartment without letting Harry get another word of small talk in.

And thus his expectation came true: Mr. Graves looked him up and down, and said, “Evening,” all the while reaching for the handle of his door.

Harry sighed. Only some of the sigh was over his neighbor’s attractiveness—mostly, it was the sigh of never being able to accomplish his goal of being liked by his neighbor. The goal had nothing to do with Mr. Graves’ attractiveness, really. It was just that Harry had no idea how his neighbor was managing to resist Harry’s now-practiced friendship overtures. Without the Potter name, he’d had to do quite a bit of practice to figure out how one got to know someone when that someone didn’t already know most of the relevant details about you. He’d gotten good at it. Or so he’d thought before attempting to get to know Mr. Graves.

He was still looking Mr. Graves’ way when Mr. Graves turned around. He’d even wiped his glasses to see him better.

“How do you possibly forget a weatherproofing charm during the most rain-filled winter we’ve had in years?” Mr. Graves said all in one breath, looking faintly shocked at himself for saying it. The words seemed to have been building inside him for a while now. “Every time I see you, you’re soaked through.”

Harry glanced down sheepishly at his wet robes. Mr. Graves wasn’t wrong, although how his dripping state affected his neighbor, Harry had no idea. He ran a hand through his wet hair. “I don’t actually know any weatherproofing charms.” At Mr. Graves’ rather judgmental look, Harry huffed. “Besides, don’t those fail after some amount of water in a short period of time?”

“Not if you renew the charms on your robes each year.”

Harry frowned, unsure if his neighbor was having him on. He’d never heard of people bothering with things like that. “Why would my regular robes have charms on them?”

“Mr. Wazib,” Mr. Graves said, aghast, proving that like Harry he had taken a look or two at the names on the mailboxes downstairs. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

Harry was not, in fact, joking. “I don’t even cast defense charms on my robes. They become too heavy. I feel like I’m wearing steel armor every time I go outside. The one time I tried weatherproofing charms, they were even worse. I’d rather suffer the rain than the charms.” He wondered if Mr. Graves worked in the fashion industry. It made sense to him, as Mr. Graves had an attractive, fine-clothed style, and his affront of Harry’s clothing choices seemed heartfelt. “I don’t see how it matters.”

“There’s no need to suffer at all,” Mr. Graves said after a moment of silence. “Come with me.”

It sounded like an order. Harry wasn’t particularly fond of that sort of thing. He stood unmoving, and said, “I don’t appreciate being ordered around.”

There went his daydreams about Mr. Graves’ rather nice behind.

But Mr. Graves didn’t look offended. With a shake of his head, he said, “I’ve been at work for too long.” He walked the distance between their doors and offered his arm to Harry. “Please. It’s quite necessary for the sake of your health and for that of my sanity. I can’t bear to see a fellow wizard being this wrong.”

“I should’ve known you’d be arrogant. You’re too attractive not to be,” Harry huffed, allowing Mr. Graves to take his arm. “If you’re kidnapping me, I’ll have you know I’m a former auror.”

Mr. Graves grinned, looking damnedly good with a smile on his face. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

And with that, they were gone.

Mr. Graves’ apparition was soundless and nearly comfortable. Harry had never developed a similar proficiency, having never found much enjoyment in magical travel, and if he weren’t convinced that his neighbor hated him for his fashion choices he would have asked Mr. Graves for tips. Instead, he opened his eyes to a shop on Freedom Lane, one of the six main roads of NYC’s magical district. He’d passed by it a few times but never considered stopping by.

Before today, Harry hadn’t thought himself in need of a tailor.

He still didn’t. “My robes are fine.”

Because he was a cruel, cruel man, Mr. Graves had apparated them just outside the overhang of the building. The rain poured mercilessly onto Harry, pattering down from his head and down his body, all except the section where Mr. Graves’ robes touched his own. The water-repelling charms on Mr. Graves’ robes left the man comfortably standing in the downpour without a single raindrop ruining his coiffed hair.

“It’s unnecessary,” Harry grumbled, trying not to sound too eager to get into the warmth of the shop. “Mr. Graves...”

Mr. Graves patted Harry’s arm. “Percival, please. And it will be my treat.”

“I can pay my own way.”

“But this way, I have an excuse to choose a much more fitting style for your robes.”

“I thought we were only here for charms,” Harry said even as he allowed Percival to pull him inside.

“Were we?” Percival asked, so innocently that a chocolate frog wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

The tailors recognized Percival the moment the two of them stepped inside. Harry resigned himself to being poked and prodded at for the sake of his neighbor’s sanity, as Percival put it, but he found it to be a much more comfortable affair than he’d expected. Unlike the rush of back to school shopping at Madam Malkin’s, where the needles were always a bit too sharp and the tape measures always threatening to cut off circulation, Percival’s tailor had an easy, methodical pace. Harry even found himself having fun as he argued about styles and colors with his neighbor. He didn’t quite speak the language of fashion, but Percival didn’t seem to mind, always happy to explain how things worked now that Harry had decided to be his enthusiastic student in wizarding men’s fashion. American wizarding fashion, that was, as Harry knew that traditionalists back in Britain would find some of the cuts positively scandalous. Harry couldn’t wait until the barrier between muggle and wizard fashion finally broke. For now, he simply amused himself by choosing some form-fitting robes and standing in such a way that invited Percival’s gaze to linger.

Judging by Percival’s looks, Percival didn’t hate Harry at all. It was a relief. Harry discarded his previous intentions of wanting to make friends with his neighbor. He must have been in denial. Friendship wasn’t nearly what Harry wanted from his Mr. Graves.

In another life, Percival must have been a tailor. Or maybe even in this one. Harry still had no idea what the man did, other than that it allowed him to throw around money on a neighbor he barely knew.

Several hours and Percival’s purse many galleons poorer, Harry took Percival’s arm again and allowed himself to be deposited back on his doorstep. Percival had brought them to the very same spot they’d apparated from. Funny how a few hours could change so much. Harry was familiar now with Percival’s laugh, his keen eye, the way his eyes grew bright when he spoke with passion.

“Come on,” Harry said, opening his door with a wave of his hand, too impatient to even search for a wand. Neither did he want to shift his hand from Percival’s grip. “You’ve helped me into a dozen robes. The least you can do is help me out of them.”

This had nothing to do with fashion, but Percival’s eyes were bright, and a smirk tugged at his lips. “Is that an order, Mr. Wazib?”

“Yes, yes it is.”

“Then I’m simply obligated to follow it.” And Percival stepped inside.

**Author's Note:**

> (later:  
> harry: director of macusa's dmle whomst????  
> percival: i knew the harry potter bit but you're a bestselling author??!???  
> everyone around them: save me)
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'm also on [tumblr](https://wynnefic.tumblr.com/).


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